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Somewhere along the time and space continuum I got lost. 
 
I wish it were in some exotic place like along the Egyptian Nile, where the locals in the time of pyramids stopped to gather water from the source before the irrigation systems made it unnecessary.  Or maybe I’d have faired better in the peak of pre-colonial Native America, where tribes relished in family, in tradition, in the natural. But alas, I am here in suburbia, where the realities of working, mortgages, and bills for everything sometimes weigh far heavier on the mind than they should.
 
I’m floating out here in discontent.  I’m wondering how the heck I missed the direct route to wherever I was supposed to be getting to.  Frankly, I’ve forgotten where exactly that destination is and I don’t know if I’d fit in there now.
 
I’m thinking about all the opportunities I took advantage of when I was young and without any responsibility.  Workshops to train me for earning that Pulitzer Prize I coveted as a teen.  Programs to learn about government, leadership, citizenship. Traveling overseas as a photojournalist to work for a special insert for a newspaper – a trip full of exotic food, people, landscapes, and the keen-eyed customs agent that nearly arrested me.  It was a lifetime ago.
 
I recall with a certain emptiness the love I experienced and lost.  The beau who became my high school prom date and who wrote the most fantastic letters when I ventured off to college and he stayed behind working (or something).   I’ve no idea when I became too pretentious to reply.  The college sweetheart whose family seemed to embrace me, but who was too close to a failed relationship to realize his new girl wanted his all.  The long-time friend who continues to seek something he’s not defined and cannot possibly attain until he does.  The married guy I entertained via text for a summer who was supposedly working on a divorce but apparently was working on a baby instead.  Was I craving attention so badly that I nearly became the mistress? My God, it disgusts me – – or perhaps, I disgust me.
 
I’m hearing Erykah Badu singing, “I guess I’ll see you next lifetime… maybe we’ll be butterflies…”
 
 
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